


move like you stole it (make your move on me)

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Dry Humping, M/M, Masturbation, and pretty much half of the bvb team is mentioned, and there's a lot of alcohol too, gotzeus is also mentioned, how do i tag this sht, i am trash i'm sorry for this, i don't even know what is this i just wrote, there's graphic descriptions of kissing too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know me, I don’t dance. Beers? Beers I can do. Other alcoholic stuff too. But dancing? Nein. Nichs. I can’t even move my – hips!” Moritz tries an awkward hip movement, misjudging his amout of space and ending up being shoved against Leo’s slim frame when someone bumps into his back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	move like you stole it (make your move on me)

**Author's Note:**

> hi there!  
> so, for starters, this is my first attempt at writing EVER and i'm kinda nervous abt this tbh so i'm just gonna drop this here and RUN AWAY.  
> i also apologize for any grammar/non-grammar mistakes, english isn't exactly my first language, so.
> 
> (and ofc this is a!! work of fiction!!)  
> (ahhh yes! this whole thing is inspired - kind of - in 'move like you stole it - 22 ward (paul oakenfold remix)' which is a pretty sick song yall should listen to.)
> 
> enjoy (◕‿◕✿)

So, here they are. After another victory in the Bundesliga and with the shortest gap ever between them and Bayern, the team decided to go out and celebrate german style. Which means, with lots of alcoholic stuff.

“Shots!” someone screams, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Marco, but Moritz isn’t pointing any fingers ‘cause Leo choose that exact moment to throw his arms around Moritz neck, hugging him from behind.

“Will you take one shot with me, _Kindergesicht_?” Leo asks, his hoarse voice in Mo’s ear, causing a shiver to run through his spine, energy pooling hot and low in his belly.

See, the thing is: Moritz had a bit of a crush on Leo since Day One, because, let’s face it, _Leonardo Bittencourt has a very attractive face, a smile that can make Earth stop moving and one hell of a good body_ – thank fuck for his good genes – and all those years together in the youth team for both BVB and the Mannschaft, plus the fact that now they were able to play together for Dortmund’s main team had done absolutely nothing to make Moritz feelings go away, oh no. For his despair, they only grew bigger.

“Yeah, sure,” Mo answers, turning his head to the left, his nose bumping into Leo’s cheek due to the proximity of their faces. Fuck, Moritz thinks, this is a bad idea. “Lets do this.”

With a loud “yes!”, Leo pulls Mo from the stool he’s sitting, dragging him closer to the table where the usual suspects – Marco, Mats and Mario – are forcing poor Manni to drink distilled alcohol like it is water. Okay, _maybe_ not exactly forcing since the midfielder looks at least 50% sure of what he is doing, but still. Mo is considering the exactly amout of alcohol he would have to consume to do something incredibly stupid – _like kissing his best friend right on the mouth, maybe?_ – when he feels Leo’s hand grasping his own and their fingers tangling together. It’s absolutely normal for two guys to hold hands, isn’t it? Yeah, of course it is. Sure thing. Moritz is about to freak the fuck out of his mind but luckily Marco chooses this exact moment to shout a very excited “Ay, the couple is here!” to which Leo answers with only an eye-roll. _Well then_.

  
“Pour us a shot, asshole” Leo says, letting go of Mo’s hand to put some salt in the back of his hand and to pick up a slice of lemon, “c’mon, Mo. I’m gonna show you something beautiful. The beautiful world of the _tequila com sal e limão_.”

Moritz takes a deep breath and copies his gestures, then turns to face Leo, a smirk curling up in his mouth. “Are you ready then, pretty boy?” he asks, his voice sounding much more controlled than he actually felt.  
“ _Te quiero con limón._ ” Leo answers, a smug grin appearing on his face when he takes in the confused look in Mo’s eyes. _As if portuguese wasn’t enough, now this jackass is talking spanish._ Great. Really nice. “Ready. One. Two. Three.”

  
They down their shots almost at the same time and then Leo, as if just to prove what a big mistake Moritz has done, slowly licks the salt from the back of his hand and sucks the slice of lemon almost obscenely, eyes never leaving Moritz’. _What the fucking fuck is happening here? Is he trying to arouse me? Because if that’s the case then it’s definitely working_. Mo feels so ~~horny~~ dumbstruck that he almost forgets the salt and lemon, Mario and Marco’s shouts of “don’t forget the salt!” bringing him back to Earth. When they finish their drinks, Leo winks at hm, his voice almost a purr when he says “ready for more, baby face?”

  
There’s no way I’m going to survive this without a huge amount of alcohol, Moritz realizes. He analizes the bottles in front of them, then turns to his team mates – already on their way to have an astronomic hangover on the next morning – and then back to Leo, his bright smile and tattoed arms and skinny jeans and golden complex.

“Let’s do this, _arschloch_.”

And if Moritz’ smile grows a little bigger when he sees the smuginess in Leo’s eyes faltering, his pupils dilating, well, fuck.

He’s already screwed anyway.

 

##                                                                               ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)

  

Moritz isn’t exactly the most sober person of the club at the present moment, no, so maybe that’s why he is currently letting himself be dragged by Leo to a crowded dancefloor, muffling his drunken protests of “but I don’t know how to fucking dance, Leo” on his beer. The younger one comes to a sudden halt and he ends up colliding against his back, almost spilling the beer over the two of them.

  
“Shit, almost let everything go to waste!” Moritz proudly proclaims, taking another sip of his precious beer and looking down to stare into Leo’s eyes, the height difference painfully clear now they were facing each other, close enough so their arms and hands were bumping into one another. “Now what.”

  
“Now,” Leo answers “we dance.”

  
“You know me, I don’t dance. Beers? Beers I can do. Other alcoholic stuff too. But dancing? Nein. Nichs. I can’t even move my – hips!” Moritz tries an awkward hip movement, misjudging his amout of space and ending up being shoved against Leo’s slim frame when someone bumps into his back.

  
“You just have to follow the music. It’s quite simple, to be honest.” Leo says as he starts swaying his hips around and Moritz stays still, the people jumping and bumping into him but he doesn’t care. All he sees is Leo. He’s sure that if he looks around he’ll find Mario and Marco with their hands all over each other and Kuba and Lukasz acting like two overly preocupied mother hens over Manni, Jonas and Erik but, right now, all he cares about is Leo. Leo and his moves and the way he looks in these tight black jeans and how the low v-neck shirt is damp with sweat and clingy around his belly and back and the way Leo keeps staring into his eyes while moving his entire body to the loud _tump tump_ of the music and fuck. All he wants is _Leo Leo Leo_ and Leo’s moving closer closer _impossibly closer_ until he’s drawing out his hands and putting them in Mo’s hips and fuck again. How is this his life?

“Come on, Mo” Leo says, giving his hips a slight tug, moving their bodies together to the sound of music. “Feel the beat, lose yourself.” Leo smiles and winks at him, eyes dark and deep and full of something Mo can’t even begin to understand because, well, he’s pissed drunk, so there’s that.

  
_Jesus, how did I end up so whipped by this boy_ , Mo thinks as he, as shy and awkward as possible, moves his hips around to the beat of a catchy pop song remixed into something sensual and full of bass and takes another sip of his beer, watching through lidded eyes the way Leo’s gaze lingered on his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down when he swalloed and the way he almost choke on his own tongue when Mo winked at him. _Good to know I’m not the only one affected by whatever the fuck this is_ , he thinks, moving his hips with a little more confidence and receiving a coy smile in response.

They dance. They dance until Mo doesn’t feel his feet anymore and his bones are soaked with the music and with colorful lights and his brain has catalogued all the little twists Leo does when he dances, the way he smiles when he catches Moritz obviously staring and the glint of mischief and something more when Mo does a bolder move.

And then shit hits the fan.

It starts when Leo takes the beer from Mo’s hands and gives it to some random stranger passing by. Moritz is opening his mouth to ask what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-that’s-my-fucking-beer-over-there when Leo suddenly yanks him forward, closing the already small gap between them, and starts dancing again, this time grinding his entire body against Mo’s. He sways his hips in circular movements, his hands on the older boy’s waist, making him follow. If Moritz was horny before, nothing had prepared him to _this_. Leo moves his body in an almost obscene way against Mo’s, his hands gripping his waist with something akin to roughness and Moritz can’t think straight (no pun indeed) because he’s so turned on that it actually hurts.

It’s a small mercy, he figures, when Leo’s hands move from their previous spot and run up up up against his sides to the back of Moritz’ neck, scratching the sensitive skin there and tangling themselves into his short hair, pulling slightly. Moritz bites back a moan, chewing his lip with such intensity that he feels the skin breaking and the taste of blood coating his senses, and wraps his arms around Leo’s waist, move by move forgeting everyone around him except the boy with the earth-shattering grin and _fuck._ The feeling of Leo grinding against him is enough to turn him on and when his half hard-on makes full contact with the younger’s boy leg, his first thought is to disentangle himself from him and run away. But then he hears it.

Leo moans.

He moans and pulls Mo’s hair with deliberate strengh and rolls his hips around until his crotch is grinding against Moritz’ and Mo sucks in a breath, the grip he has on Leo’s waist getting stronger and then Leonardo leans completely against him, his mouth brushing over Mo’s ear as he says “I’m not reading this wrong, right?” and _fuck._ Fuck, if anything, he’s reading this completely _right._ Moritz exhales loudly when he feels Leo’s teeth nibbling the soft cushion of his ear, causing him to grab the younger boy’s waist with a little more force, and he whimpers in Leo’s ear, the boy grinding his hips harder against Mo’s and fuck– Leo is hard too.

“No, you’re not reading this w-wron– Fuck.” Mo stutters, his voice failing when Leo presses his lips against the flesh of his neck, moaning when he sucks a bruise on the spot where neck meets shoulder and murmuring “not wrong. Very right. Fuck, so right.” when the younger boy pulls at his hair, not being able to restrain himself.

 _whoa, the world ain't ending, but it might as well be,_  
_whoa, I'll rock you like the sea._  
_buildings ain't crumbling, but they might as well be,_  
_whoa, so let's stop thinking and just–_

Leo backs off just enough so he can look Mo in the eye, chocolate brown eyes meeting hazel green, and he bites his lip, his gaze wandering down until he’s staring shamelessly at Mo’s lips while he stares back and grinds their hips together, their cocks rutting against each other through the two thick layers of clothes. Moritz is hyperaware of the painting boy in front of him and his blown-wide by lust, desire and want eyes, his slightly open and moaning mouth and the way sweat run his face down to the side of his neck.  
Fuck, Moritz wants to kiss him.

 _ _move like you stole it.__  
_move, hurry._  
_move like you stole it,_  
_make your move on me_

Maybe that’s exactly why he does it.

As the beat of the music speeds, Moritz moves one of his hands up to Leo’s neck, his thumb ghosting against the boy’s cheek as his eyes briefly search for any signs of resistance in his eyes. Founding none, Mo leans forward until their noses bump and Leo laughs and their lips collide.

And just like that, the world starts making sense again.

It’s not soft, it’s not tentative and certainly is not gentle. It’s rushed and fuelled by their heated moment from before; it’s Moritz licking Leo’s bottom lip, Leo fisting his hands on the soft material of Mo’s t-shirt, their teeth clashing when he gives full access for Mo, moaning against his lips when he licks the inside of his mouth.

It’s Leo pushing Moritz through the crowd when they break the kiss for breathe, backing the boy off until Moritz’ ass lands in one of the black leather couches in the VIP area and then proceeds to straddle him as soon as he sits down. “Fuck, Mo–” Leo breathes against his mouth when he grinds down into Mo’s lap, a rushed “you’re so fine” whispered before they’re back at kissing.

“You taste like –” Moritz kisses the corner of Leo’s mouth, then he kisses his cheek and trails down to the boy’s neck. Leo freezes for a moment, one of his hands tangled in Mo’s hair as the other makes his way down, down, _down_ until it rests against the waistband of his jeans, “strawberry bubblegum,” Moritz leaves a lovebite in Leo’s neck, receiving a small whimper and thrust of his hips against his own in return, “and beer. Fuck– I want to taste you forever.” he says, and sucks a bruise into Leo’s exposed collarbones, feeling like he might just explode due to sexual frustration.

“Then do it,” Leo says as he grinds down again and again and again and Mo moans against Leo’s skin, bitting his collarbones – he thinks he may be developing an obsession with that especific part of Leo – and moves his hands from Leo’s hips to his ass, thrusting harder when he the boy catches his lower hip between his teeth before kissing him again.  
Leo pulls at his hair and kiss him until their lips are swollen and red from all the biting and sucking and their cocks are making contact through the fabric of their jeans, and everything it’s _too much_ and _not enough_ at the same time and then Leo slips his hand inside Mo’s jeans and underpants.

And fuck.  
_Holy fuck._

Leo definitely knows what he’s doing because that has to be the best handjob Mo has received in ages; he’s reduced into a wantonly moaning mess and he couldn’t care less. His grip on Leo’s ass hardens and he tries to muffle his noises on the boy’s neck and chest, licking and kissing and biting and sucking the salty tanned skin.  
“Mo, you’re so fine,” Leo gasps in Mo’s ear, biting and pulling his earlobe, “I want you to come for me, Mo. Come on, come for me. Fuck, I–” Leo hisses and thrusts his covered cock against Mo’s belly when he grabs his ass more forcefully, licking the drops of sweat running down Mo’s neck. _“I want you to fuck me,_ ” he says and twists his hand and holds his cock with a little more strengh and then Moritz is coming, spurting hot white come into Leo’s hands and into his own jeans, chanting “Leo, Leo, fuck, Leo” like a prayer with his lips still pressed against the younger boy’s neck.

He feels Leo’s previously hard cock starting to soft against his belly and when he looks down he faintly sees a damp spot in the boy’s blue jeans and oh–  
Dry humping is a _wonder_ , Mo thinks.

“Look at me, Mo,” Leo’s hoarse voice interrupts and lifts his clouded eyes to look at Leo’s equally clouded ones, another wave of energy pooling down his lower belly when he sees Leo licking his covered-in-come-fingers and then leaning down to kiss Moritz, their tongues tangling together and allowing Mo to taste himself in Leo’s mouth. They kiss until their lips are numb and then Mo peppers Leo mouth and cheeks and chin with little mouth-closed kisses.

“We should go home, you know,” Mo says, smiling when he sees a lazy smile illuminating Leo’s features.

“Oh, yeah? May I ask why?” Leo asks, voice full of mischief as he runs both of his hands through Mo’s hair before kissing the tip of his nose.

“There’s this boy, you see. He has me wrapped around his finger and I just happened to be head over heels for him and he wants _me_ to fuck _him_. So. Yes, shall we go?”

Nevermind that Moritz might’ve just told Leo that he has a crush on him since forever.  
No big fucking deal.  
No, not at all.

It’s a relief when he sees Leo face contorts in a mix of desire and want and surprise over Mo’s words, a feeling that grows even bigger when Leo leans down to whisper “finally,” before kissing his entire face before lazily kissing him on the mouth.

“And yes. Let’s go home.” he says, getting up and pulling Mo with him, fingers linked as they make their way to where Mats, Lukasz and Kuba are hanging with the rest of the children of the team to let them know they’re leaving, just for the sake of not giving Dad and Dad (Lukasz and Kuba, in this case) a heart attack, both of them blushing when Mats says (rather _bloody screams_ , Mo thinks) “don’t forget to protect yourselves, for fuck’s sake.”

Once they get out into the rather windy but still hot-enough-to-use-a-shirt-outside-and-not-freeze-to-death night of Dortmund, Leo properly grabs a hold of Mo’s hand as they walk to his house, since it is the one closer to the club. They walk home and run and kiss in the middle of desert streets, their smiles illuminated by the yellow lamps on the sidewalks and their laughs guarded by the moons and the black skies and the stars above them.

## ლ(ಠ益ಠლ) 

“ _You’ve got me wrapped around your finger too,_ _arschloch._ ”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> for all the non-german speakers, just in case:  
> kindergesicht = baby face  
> arschloch = idiot
> 
> thanks for reading!  
> all the love, c.


End file.
